


Fire and Sweets

by Corvin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mentions of Sterek, Werewolf!Sheriff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvin/pseuds/Corvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So how many people have you killed?” </p><p>Peter shrugged, “semantics.” </p><p>“No,” said the Sheriff, “it's really not.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Sweets

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Teen Wolf Christmas! on tumblr. 
> 
> Prompts: Fire and Sweets

Peter couldn't help but feel a little amused when he noticed the pups tip toeing around Derek when they asked if they could make a bonfire. The fire had been terrible for Derek too of course, but he hadn't been there. Hadn't felt the very flames searing and boiling his skin; heard the screams of their loved ones dying, pleading with the shadows outside to at least spare the children—

Peter took a deep breath and carefully forced any negative reactions down once they lit the pile of wood in the middle of the clearing. 

The sun hadn't quite set, but the tall trees blocked the light out earlier in the day. The bonfire cast them all in weak, dancing shadows. Peter stood further back, towards the porch while Derek and the pups sat a little closer in several mismatched lawn chairs that Stiles had brought. 

Headlights shone through from the road, followed by the Sheriff's squad car. He and Melissa McCall reached into the backseat before getting out. 

“We got hot chocolate and eggnog!” Melissa announced. 

The kids cheered and bustled over to them. Melissa and the Sheriff, Peter honestly didn't know his name, elbowed their way through the crowd as if they had any chance if the kids decided not to move. 

Peter's lips twitched into a detached half-smile as they passed him on their way into the mostly renovated house before he pointedly looked away. He saw Melissa glare at him out of the corner of his eye. 

That was fair. She'd been pissed once she saw him again and found out about his role in Scott's whole ordeal. To be fair though, he hadn't been planning on killing her. People were too sensitive these days. 

The sun kept setting, the shadows kept getting longer, and the fire grew brighter. 

Melissa emerged from the house, carrying a bag of Styrofoam cups and eggnog carton in one hand and a bowl of candy in the other. She marched passed him and yelled to Scott. “A little help here, I'm a nurse not a maid!” 

Peter rolled his eyes, eggnog was gross anyway. He stared into the fire, testing how long it would take to hear his brother and sister-in-law screaming in his mind when Sheriff Stilinski stepped up beside him.

“You know, Derek made me promise not to arrest you three times.” Sheriff Stilinski said conversationally. He was holding two steaming mugs, one of which he held out to Peter. “So how many people have you killed?” 

Peter accepted it and sipped the hot chocolate while he casually ticked off his fingers. He lowered the cup and shrugged, “semantics.” 

“No,” said the Sheriff, “it's really not.” 

Peter hummed and took another sip. 

“I'm not super excited about the fact that you kidnapped my son either.” 

“I also stole a candy bar when I was eight,” said Peter, “I'm a super villain.” 

The Sheriff pursed his lips and eyed Peter disapprovingly. “It's bad to steal,” he said dryly.

Peter blew a raspberry, “don't try to change me, baby.” He grinned when the Sheriff snorted. “To be fair,” he mused, “I didn't kill anyone who didn't deserve it.” 

“Define 'deserve,'” the Sheriff deadpanned. 

“Hmm,” Peter smiled and stared thoughtfully at the bonfire. “I'd say, whoever participated in the violent, cold-blooded murder of my family. How's that?” He didn't get a response. He probably would've gotten mean if he did. 

So they stood side by side in silence, watching the pack interact. Peter had a hard time considering them his pack. Derek was his nephew by blood and Scott has the first and only werewolf he'd turned, but there were no ties there. Peter was still there because he was useful and the last relative Derek had. 

If Peter was a little less dead inside it might hurt his feelings. 

“I'm a little surprised you let them do this.” The Sheriff gestured towards the fire with his cup, “seems like it'd be...kind of traumatic.” 

“It wasn't my call,” Peter replied, “but either way it's fine.” 

The Sheriff moved like he tried to nod but started to shrug on accident. Peter smiled and lifted his nose to scent the air. 

There was the usual scent of a man, body chemistry, a little sweat, faint aftershave that had probably been used a day or two ago. But it was underneath those scents that Peter found what he was looking for. A little fear, a little anger. Peter looked at him out of the corner of his eye. The Sheriff's posture was relaxed and confident. “I'm surprised you're here. Last I heard, you pulled a gun on Derek in Stiles' room.” 

“Well,” the Sheriff shifted, “I thought they were...doing something else.” 

Most people did these days. Peter finished off his hot chocolate and smacked his lips. “Don't worry, Derek hasn't touched Stiles, no matter how much they both want it.” 

The Sheriff turned to Peter sharply, “how do you—”

Peter tapped his nose. 

Closer to the fire Stiles threw a football straight at Jackson's head. Jackson whirled around, eyes flashing blue and snarled. Stiles guffawed and dove to hide behind Derek. 

Scott tackled Jackson from behind, Isaac jumped on top of both of them. Erica had already been in the process of climbing Boyd, but in a more suggestive manner. Melissa kept looking over at the Sheriff between encouraging Scott to 'go for the kidneys.'

“Maybe you should go join the cool kids.” 

The Sheriff looked confused so Peter sighed. “Much fun as this has been, Craig,” he took a guess at a name, “I'm going inside.” 

“My name is John,” said John. 

“That's boring.” Peter snatched the mug away from John and dumped the small amount of hot chocolate out. 

“I wasn't done with that!” John whined. 

“Sure you were. Go have some eggnog.” 

Peter took the mugs inside, and contented himself leaning against the kitchen counter and listening to the sounds from outside. If he wanted to socialize he'd go somewhere and find people who weren't still mad about all that murdering he did. 

-.-.-.-

 

Werewolf senses were an interesting thing. From what Peter understood modern media seemed to think it was a constant ON that wolves learned to ignore. Which was stupid really, because if his hearing or sight or even smell were always on then he'd probably go insane. (More insane.) There was no ignoring it. 

No, all pups had the senses of a regular person. Sure they had spikes of awareness every now and then, but mostly they were taught to focus themselves. That was where the super senses came in. 

Peter had trained himself while he was still in the hospital to attune his ears to his natural surroundings. He grew accustomed to certain sounds that were normal and he grew alert at the unfamiliar. 

So when a car made its way onto the preserve at eight o'clock on Christmas morning, Peter's eyes blinked open and he stared up at the ceiling with a raised eyebrow. 

He counted to three and smirked when he heard Derek's muttered curse. Derek would probably make a show of pretending they weren't there. Derek was so overly theatrical. 

Peter threw his blanket aside and wandered into the hallway. He listened carefully as the car pulled up to in front of the house. By that time he knew Isaac had heard them as well. 

“They're not going to leave,” he said at a regular volume, knowing they were both tuned in. “Be polite, it's Christmas. You wouldn't want to make a bad impression.” 

“Couldn't be any worse than yours.” Derek was suddenly beside him, giving that bitch look he'd inherited from his father. 

Peter smiled sweetly and went down the stairs. He waited until just before the Sheriff knocked on the door to pull it open. “John,” he tilted his head to the side and saw Stiles struggling under a stack of brightly wrapped boxes. “Stiles.” 

Derek huffed loudly. “What are you doing here?” 

“It's Christmas dude!” Chirped Stiles. “The rest of the pack are coming after they're done Christmas-ing at home.” 

Peter continued to stand in the doorway. He wondered how long it would take for Stiles to drop what he was carrying. He'd just started to lean against the doorjam to enjoy the show when John shoved at him. 

“There's more in the car, feel free to help out.” He grabbed the top two boxes from Stiles' load and shouldered past Peter. “Stiles got up early to make peppermint bark.” 

“You're welcome,” Stiles trotted in after his father. “It's in the the car, and don't worry,” the grin he gave Derek was positively shit-eating. Peter was so proud. “It's not as bad as your bite.” 

Derek looked suitably annoyed but personally Peter thought Stiles' could've done better. But it was early. 

Peter lurked off to the side while they, along with Isaac who came down shortly, brought in several more boxes and bags filled with decorations. By the time Erica and Boyd showed up the living room was looking positively festive. 

Soon everyone else arrived and Stiles was carefully asking Derek if they could light a fire in the fireplace. 

Peter shut his eyes when they did it. The bonfire had barely been a problem but inside the house was a different matter. 

He exhaled quietly through his nose and ducked into the kitchen. He was almost happy when Scott started bitching about not being allowed to invite Allison. 

Melissa couldn't seem to figure out whose side she was on. She started posturing when Erica threatened to claw Scott's eyes out. 

“Candy cane?” 

Peter opened his eyes, John was in front of him and holding out a multicolored candy cane. “Stiles brought way too much of everything. I hope you have a sweet tooth.” 

“Not particularly, but I do live with a teenager so we'll make due.” Peter accepted the candy cane and carefully unwrapped it. “You're missing the Christmas party.” 

John shrugged, “I'd rather talk to an adult, to be honest.” 

“Melissa?” 

“Is currently squabbling with a group of teenagers,” John sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Even if I get it, I'm not really willing to pick a side out there.” 

Personally Peter thought it was a little funny, but the burning wood in the hearth turned his stomach. “Oh you get it?” He asked, sucking on the end of the candy cane. 

“After Stiles filled me in about everything that happened? Definitely. Between what happened with Gerard and the whole Kate Argent fiasco, I can't help but kind of wish that family would leave town.” John frowned, “I suppose I don't blame Chris, and my heart goes out to them...” He looked down, “losing a wife and mother is a terrible thing.” 

“Trust me,” Peter muttered coldly, “I know that perfectly well.”

John studied him closely, and he seemed to find something he approved of, because he nodded slapped Peter's shoulder. “I'll make some coffee.” 

“Sounds yummy.” 

-.-.-.-

Peter doodled on his hand with the pen John had given him for Christmas. It was a cheap fountain pen that probably cost around five bucks at a CVS, but Peter appreciated how disturbed Stiles looked when John handed it over. 

He sat on top of the Stilinski house, listening to John complain about Stiles leaving his window open. 

“I'm not paying to heat the outside, Stiles.” 

Peter heard a shuffle of clothing and smirked. John had probably put his hands on his hips in an attempt to look like the imposing father-figure. 

“Dad,” Stiles whined, “Derek's coming by and if it's closed he'll do the death glare for days.” 

Peter preferred calling it 'The Bitch Face' but to each his own. He looked up and Derek was standing a few feet away bitch facing at him with red, glowing eyes. Peter waved with his fingers. 

“One, he can use the door. Two, why is he coming over at ten o'clock at night? School starts tomorrow and you're not staying home because you refused to sleep. Three—” 

“Dad.” Stiles sighed and Peter heard a series of beeps before Derek's pocket buzzed. “There, I told him to knock when he gets here, happy?”

Tuning out of their conversation, Peter pocketed his pen and did his best to look the part of disapproving Uncle. “You're going to get him grounded one of these days.” 

“I'm here to talk about the alphas,” Derek ground out. “They've been too quiet lately, I need him to look at a few things.” 

“Not to discount Stiles' hot Google search action,” Peter drawled, “but there isn't much information he'll be able to find that isn't in my archive.” Honestly though, between Stiles ability to pull up relevant information from the dark recesses of the internet and his father being the Sheriff (who had been very accepting of the whole werewolf thing), Peter thought Derek should have focused all his energy on recruiting them instead of Scott. Then again, Peter held a special dislike of Scott. 

Derek started to say something that was probably going to be defensive and nonsensical so Peter held up a hand to stop him. “Don't bother,” he said, “I just came to bring this.” He produced a small flashdrive and waved it under Derek's nose. 

Derek eyed it suspiciously. “What's that?” 

“Just some things I thought might be useful for Stiles to know about botany, werewolves and the like. That vet would probably know more, but this will at least help Stiles figure out the right questions to be asking.” 

The suspicion grew. “Why?” 

“I'm your uncle, Derek,” Peter said, projecting an air of mock hurt. “I just want you to be happy.” Derek looked like he wanted to projectile vomit. “Even if that means giving you a better reason to go sit in Stiles' room and pine at him.” 

“I'm not—”

“Of course not.” Peter smiled. “He's alone now.” 

Derek looked torn between staying and arguing with him or going inside. 

Peter rolled his eyes, “or I could give it to him myself?” 

Derek snarled and snatched the flashdrive away. Peter let him go. He had a hankering for some cookies, he'd have to pick some up before heading back to the house. 

-.-.-.-

Late February brought three days of rain and only one room in the house had sufficient roofing to stay dry. 

After they found Erica and Boyd shredded in the woods, they'd elected to stay exclusively with Derek rather than go back home. And Isaac, for all the time he spent around Scott, returned at night. Peter found himself stuck in one small room with three teenagers and his mopey nephew.

Therefore, Peter tried to spend most of his days out and about, even if it meant bumming around the less expensive places. 

Despite receiving a substantial amount of life insurance from the fire, Derek was adamant that they live as cheaply as possible to avoid gaining any attention. Because a group of five people wearing leather jackets was completely subtle. 

He was sitting in a diner, coffee in front of him, clicking a lighter on and off. Every time the little flame flickered to life his insides tightened, but he was able to stare at it longer and longer. By the next Christmas, providing the alpha pack didn't slaughter them all, he'd be able to set a bonfire himself. 

He heard John approaching before he set foot in the diner, so Peter wasn't particularly surprised when the Sheriff slid into the seat across from him. 

“You look like you're considering arson.” 

Peter paused, then looked up with a raised eyebrow. John seemed to have caught himself and was already cringing. “That was delicate,” said Peter.

“That came out wrong.” John looked apologetic, but also like he wished Peter would put the lighter away. 

Peter rolled his eyes, but did so. “Out for lunch?” He asked. 

John nodded. “Stiles had a late night and forgot to pack me one.” 

“Oh, that's adorable,” Peter snickered. 

“You?” 

“I like me time.” Peter shifted his legs back towards the seat. John had taken up a lot of room when he reclined and stretched his legs out under the table. He considered retaliating with a display of his own dominance- he was a werewolf and John was only human- but reigned the instinct in. Instead he smiled pleasantly and said, “I won't tell Stiles if you order a big, greasy hamburger.” 

John glared at him. 

“So, late night?” 

“Your nephew,” said John, “seems to enjoy spending time in my son's room at all hours of the night.” 

Peter pursed his lips and nodded, “it's been raining a lot lately. Must be nice to be in where its dry.” 

John faltered and covered it up by signaling a passing waitress. The service was terrible, leaving the Sheriff of all people waiting. Peter sipped his coffee while John perused the menu. 

Finally Peter asked, “is it the the hours or the fact that it's Derek that bothers you?” 

He zeroed all his senses in on John, taking in the way his face tightened a little around the eyes, the scent of discomfort and slightly raised testosterone, and how his heart sped up just a bit. “I just think,” John said haltingly, “we have 'pack meetings' all the time. I don't see why he has to...” He waved his hand a little, but Peter could fill in the rest. 

The waitress returned with fresh coffee and took John's order. 

“You have to notice how they are with each other,” John continued. “I'm not comfortable with a man in his twenties spending alone time with my teenage son.” 

Peter pondered over that. He'd noticed a while ago that Derek seemed to have a soft spot for Stiles, and once Stiles developed a crush it had been even more blazingly obvious. But the idea of them actually acting on it seemed just a tiny bit absurd.

He put his elbows on the table and laced his fingers. “How much do you know about Kate Argent?” he asked. 

John blinked at the abrupt subject change, “she tried to kill Scott and Derek. And she uh, set the fire.” 

Peter nodded, “how do you think she figured us out? Got confirmation, the exact location of our house and how to trap us there.” He didn't give John time to answer, he saw the realization. “We raised our children to be cautious. How do you think she got Derek to trust her enough to tell her anything?”

“...Jesus Christ,” breathed John. 

“He was sixteen years old and she was twenty-one.” 

They sat in silence until the waitress brought John's food. John thanked her weakly. 

Peter stared at the burger that John had indeed taken the opportunity to order, and stole a french fry. “They'll definitely have a big, long, cheesy, emotional affair that it'll take them years to acknowledge,” he said, “but Derek won't do anything while Stiles is underage.” He might not do anything ever, but Peter wouldn't be able to say that for sure. 

John heaved a huge sigh and took a bite of his burger. “You know,” he said through a mouth full of food. “Sometimes it's hard to remember why Stiles is so creeped out by you.” 

Peter smiled and brought his lighter back out. 

-.-.-.- 

When Stiles sent out the mass text, Peter was patrolling around the preserve with Derek and Boyd. 

911 alphas my house

They'd wolfed out and took off on foot. 

The early April moon was half full, casting the trees in waving shadows. Peter extended his senses to peer at each one. No one had grown lax, so to speak, when it took the alphas months to make a move. But he knew Derek would take full responsibility for anything that happened to the Stilinskis, as if he should have magically known what move the alphas were going to make. 

It was stupid, Peter thought. Everyone had been on guard, waiting for the inevitable battle. The attack caught them all flat footed. 

The three of them arrived at the house first. Stiles and John were in the living room, back to back inside a circle of mountain ash. John had his gun drawn, his personal SW1911 that Chris Argent had loaded with wolfsbane bullets. 

Peter didn't have much time to examine why he suddenly felt like he could breathe again after seeing them alive and well before the alphas were upon them. 

There were only two, but they were powerful. The woman pounced on Derek, tackling him into the kitchen. The young man threw Boyd into Peter and they crashed hard against the front door. 

It was vicious, bloody and all happening so dizzyingly fast. One moment Peter and Boyd were attacking from two different sides and the next Boyd was crashing threw the front window. Peter was next, flying back against the banister so hard he heard his spine fracture. He crumpled to the ground, panting hard against the pain. 

The alpha bore down on him, pleasure and bloodlust flickering across his expression. 

Peter used his arms to push himself closer to the circle. John needed to use that damn gun already. But no shot ever came. Peter couldn't move anymore. He was healing, but not nearly fast enough to outrun an attack. 

So he met the alpha's gaze and said, “Jacob Black I presume?” 

The alpha snarled and sprang forward. Neither of them noticed John in the heat of the moment, diving between the two of them. 

Peter saw the shock on “Jacob's” face, but more than that, he saw where the teeth were embedded in John's shoulder. He saw dark blood seeping into the blue sweater that John tended to enjoy wearing around the house on his days off. He heard Stiles screaming. He heard his own heartbeat raging. 

And then he heard the click of a gun. The ensuing gunshot was one of the most satisfying sounds Peter had ever heard. The surprise and rage of the alpha's face just before his eyes glazed over was pretty good too. 

He started to call out to Boyd to go help Derek, but then the alpha fell and his jagged, but razor sharp teeth took a chunk of flesh out of John. 

Stiles' was at his father's side in an instant, stripping off his flannel and pushing it to the wound. 

Derek returned to the living room looking like complete shit, but he was at least on his feet and coherent enough to call 911. 

Derek and Boyd took Peter and they waited upstairs while the police taped off the area and the ambulance rushed John and Stiles to the hospital. 

Fifteen minutes later the pack was sitting in the waiting room at the hospital. 

The woman had retreated, and it was lucky. Melissa reported to them that John had lost around two liters of blood, the teeth had ripped through muscle and tendons and the force have nearly crushed part of John's collarbone. If they'd had to try and finish the other alpha off before calling an ambulance then John would have almost definitely died. 

Stiles was sitting, ashen, quiet, face in his hands. He was sandwiched between Derek and Scott, who kept glaring at each other over him. Jackson and Lydia saw across from them. Every so often Lydia would start to reach out to touch Stiles on the knee or shoulder, but then she'd falter and pull her hand back. The girl had no idea how to comfort someone. 

Erica, Boyd and Isaac hovered next to Derek. There was only one seat to his right, so they all just stood awkwardly. 

No one knew what to say while they waited. 

Peter was polishing off his second package of Reese's peanut butter cups. He wasn't usually crazy about candy but they'd been waiting for hours. 

Melissa came back out. “He's stable for now,” she said, “but he's going to need rest before he has visitors.” 

Stiles shot to his feet, “he's okay? Is he going to be okay?” 

“He's not completely out of the woods, but he's not in immediate danger. We're transferring him out of the ICU now.” Melissa rubbed his arm, shooting Scott a meaning look. “You should get some sleep too.” 

“What? No, let me see him. I won't wake him up, I just need to make sure he's really okay!” Stiles voice started to raise when Melissa kept shaking her head. 

Scott looked like he was about to intervene, but Derek stood up first. He squeezed Stiles' wrist and said, “come back to the house tonight.” 

Stiles turned to him, looking for all the word like a betrayed puppy. Derek just squeezed his wrist harder until Stiles collapsed against him. 

“We're coming back in the morning,” Stiles murmured against Derek's shoulder. “First thing, crack of dawn, before werewolf-breakfast.” 

Scott nodded vigorously, “of course dude.” 

Peter crumpled the candy wrapper loudly in his hand, “I'm going to stop by the vending machine first. Anyone want anything?” 

They all glared. And all he was doing was being polite. 

As soon as he was out of the room, Peter didn't bother trying to kid himself. He lifted his nose and scented the air. It smelled of sterilizing cleaners and sickness, body odor, stale coffee, but John was nearby. 

Peter followed his nose to the room were John was lying unconscious and hooked up to various machines. Peter stepped up to the bed and pulled the curtain shut so they wouldn't be disturbed. 

He wasn't completely sure what he was doing. His presence wouldn't help at all. But he didn't want to go back to the house with everyone else. His presence was still tolerated at best and in that particular moment in time, he didn't really find it funny. 

So he sat on the bed, listening to the machines with his normal hearing. Idly poking the outline of John's foot every so often. 

He sat there for three hours, slipping out when a nurse came by. Whispering random insults to John to see if he could hear. It was boring. 

Incredibly boring.

But halfway through the fourth hour of staring at John's foot, Peter froze. His hackles rose, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he could feel his teeth and claws grow on instinct. 

Peter looked at John and met red eyes. 

-.-.-.-

On April 4th John was discharged from the hospital. Peter didn't bother going along when Derek took Stiles. He'd done his duty by sending a quick text to everyone, updating them on John's new species update, and that was all he was going to do. 

Instead, he stayed at the house and tried to find a comfortable position in his sleeping bag on the hardwood floor. He was considering getting up and taking the one couch they owned and were taking turns on, when he heard footsteps on the porch. 

“Shouldn't you be at home being wept over?” He asked loudly. “Some people want to sleep at seven in the morning.” 

John stepped into the house. “Some of us don't like having our foot tickled for hours on end.” 

Peter sighed and stood up. He regarded John closely, looking for all tells that would reveal him as a wolf. “Here for your revenge?” 

“No,” John shook his head. “The full moon is day after tomorrow.” 

Peter forced as much 'no shit Sherlock' in his expression as he could. 

“I want to clear the air between you and me before—” John paused. “Stiles said that on Scott's first full moon he turned into a raging jackass.” 

Scott was always a raging jackass in Peter's opinion, but he didn't bother voicing it. “I was unaware that you and I needed air clearing,” he replied instead. 

“Well, we do on my end.” 

Peter shrugged, “fine, go ahead.” 

John ran his hands through his hair, looking around the room, his eyes flashing from red to blue. He was nervous. “I don't know where to start.” 

Peter sighed loudly, A+ communication. He gave into his desires and plopped down on the couch. “Neither do I, so maybe from the beginning?” 

“Beginning, right.” John sat next to him and started. “The first three times I approached you, I was planning on threatening you.” He glared when Peter snorted. “I didn't trust you, especially hanging around a bunch of kids. It was weird and unnerving. Even more so when I found out more about you and what you did. I spent a while wishing you had just stayed dead.” He paused and looked at Peter, “do you realize you come across as the kind of guy who would stand outside a Denny's window and rub your face with an apple while you stared at someone?” 

“...Can't say I've been told that before.” Peter might have to try it. 

“You're not an approachable guy. And you're weird about skin.” John threw up his hands and pressed his lips together. “Let me try again.” 

“By all means.” Peter said sardonically. 

“At first I thought you were a homicidal maniac.” John looked at Peter again, but Peter didn't bother arguing. “But you're...kind of not. You did what you did for a specific set of reasons that I think most people could sympathize with.” John frowned, “but you still almost drove a little girl insane. You killed your niece. And I keep trying to reconcile to myself how you could be capable of it. Then I was thinking that you were some kind of high functioning sociopath, but no. You're too in control, you learn too much, you care about the pack and,” John stared hard at Peter, “you love Derek.” 

Peter frowned. 

John shook his head to discourage interruption. “So what I've basically come up with is this: you're an amoral, creepy smartass who has been severely traumatized and needs years of therapy.” 

“You're sugarcoating it.” Peter said, and he honestly wasn't being sarcastic at all. 

“And I don't ever want you in a room alone with any of those kids, preferably no humans at all, until you've had that therapy.” 

Peter snapped, “was there a point to this?”

John blinked slowly, as if he was surprised that Peter was getting irritated. He nodded, “I wanted to get it all out there so it didn't come out the wrong way later.” 

“Fantastic. Anything else?” 

“One more thing.” John took his chin in one hand and leaned down to kiss him softly. Their lips brushed together only tentatively as they stared at one another. 

Peter kissed back mostly on instinct, but he still liked it. He liked it quite a bit. 

Mouth still against John's, he closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. John was hesitant, John was aroused. Peter tilted his head to the side and licked John's bottom lip. 

And then John's phone rang. It was Stiles, so he took three steps back and answered.

-.-.-.-

Derek managed to keep John chained up during the full moon. Then afterwards he dived straight into learning control. 

Peter was actually impressed with how well John took to being a wolf. His power trip was minor and combated by his natural humility. He respect for Derek helped temper his alpha state so he could remain with the pack. And all the while Stiles still had a firm red meat ban on the house. 

They never talked about the morning John got out of the hospital. But John would still approach him, when Peter was off to the side during pack meetings or activities. Peter could tell when John scented him but that was as far as anything went. 

Sometimes Peter wondered what would happen if he brought it up, but the pack, specifically Stiles, had been so shook up at John's transformation. Even Peter didn't want to deal with the drama that would happen if they found out John kissed him. 

Still though, sometimes, when he and John were standing side by side, usually snarking about something, Peter would sniff the air. Those times, he'd feel a little disappointed when there was no hint of attraction. 

On the next full moon the alphas attacked. 

Peter wasn't going to complain, but the whole thing was kind of anticlimactic. Having another alpha had strengthened the pack significantly. With one alpha already down and the twins subdued by mountain ash, there were only two left. Deucalion and Kali. (Really with those names? And Peter thought Derek was a drama queen.) 

Just the two of them had been a challenge. Attacks from every which way but Deucalion was raw power, and Kali was formidable technique. 

Derek would forever maintain that they would have won even if the Argents hadn't shown up with a small army and put all four of them down. 

But in one night, just like that, the alpha threat was gone. 

Peter considered a coup just for the Hell of it, but instead he settled for complaining until Derek agreed to finish renovations and furnish the house. 

In August John mentioned that Stiles was waiting for Peter to snap and try to kill them all. Peter responded that his wolf wanted the power to get revenge, he didn't really want to be alpha. “My brothers and sister were seven to ten years older than me. I'm used to other people doing the boring work.” 

“You're the youngest of four,” John said wonderingly, “that explains a lot.” 

In October the pack spent the full moon in the forest. Peter didn't bother wolfing out to take off in a separate direction. He had no desire to watch Derek chase Stiles around while everyone else tried to ignore the disturbing amount of sexual tension. 

He'd gone three or four miles before he stopped in his tracks and listened. Then he said, “it honestly surprises me that they aren't having sex yet.” 

John let out a harsh growl. 

“Don't kill the messenger. Besides, I said they aren't having sex.” Peter turned around. John's eyes, fangs, and claws were out, but something was off in the way he was looking at Peter. “Let's head back.” 

“No.” 

And then Peter was pinned to the cold, leafy ground. 

It hurt the first couple of times. The full moon gave the Sheriff more stamina than he'd normally have, even as a wolf. He had Peter on his stomach, pants around his knees and face to the forest floor. 

He could have fought, he could have gotten away. John was an alpha, but Peter was more experienced. 

He didn't though. He lied still, tried to relax his body, and just took it. 

John grunted, over and over, growling nonsensical things against the nape of Peter's neck before sinking his teeth in as if he expected Peter to struggle. 

It was instinct. 

Soon Peter started to heal, and all the cum inside of him slicked John's cock well enough that the pain started to subside. 

The idea of sex with nothing but bodily fluids had never seemed appealing to Peter, but he found he enjoyed the obscene sounds their bodies were making together. 

He started to feel heat creep up his spine, and he could feel himself hardening even in their awkward position. 

The next few times were better. John let Peter roll onto his back and they were off again. No words, just quiet, choked noises in the dark forest. 

The next morning, Peter woke up with leaves and twigs in his hair and dried cum on just about every part of his body. 

It hadn't been the best sex he'd ever had. But, Peter looked up at John's face in the gray morning light, John was certainly his favorite partner. They'd work on it, preferably in a bed with lube, after a shower. 

-.-.-.-

Peter gave it a week of awkward silence from John and horrified looks from Derek and the betas, before he snuck into the Sheriff's office. 

He sat in John's chair and took in the room. It seemed pretty stereotypical as far as offices went. Credentials on the wall, a file cabinet in the corner, a desk cluttered with pens, files, a phone, and a computer. Peter considered swiping it all onto the ground when John came in, just to make an impression. 

He closed his eyes and listened closely, quickly picking out John's heartbeat near the front desk. 

“I know you're here,” Peter almost jumped when he heard John acknowledge him. “I'll be there in a second.”

So much for being a surprise. Still, Peter was impressed that John was exercising his senses and being vigilant. He supposed it came from being a cop for however long. 

Peter leaned back against the desk just as John walked in. He shut the door behind him and put his hands on his hips. “So what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Oh, I'm just checking in.” Peter tilted his head to the side, “haven't seen you since the last full moon.” 

John winced minutely and crossed his arms. “I wasn't sure if...” He trailed off, shifting in place before walking further into the room. “You're kind of a hard person to get a read on.” He stopped right in front of Peter and sniffed audibly. “Like right now I have no idea if you're here because you're mad or because you're weird.” 

“That's because I'm calm.” Peter leaned forward and sniffed back. He smirked at what he whiffed and when he saw John's pupils dilate. 

John swallowed, “so you're just weird.” 

“That's what they tell me.” 

“I'm sure they tell you a lot more than that.” John uncrossed his arms. “But this is about...that night?” 

Peter just looked at him. 

John sighed, “Right. Look,” he walked around to the other side of the desk and sat down. “The next morning you just got up and walked away. I didn't know what you were thinking and I,” he growled a little, “I feel like a jackass every time I put myself out there with you.” 

Peter stared at him. “Putting yourself out there?” 

“Yeah.” 

“With me?” 

John glared. 

“You're as ridiculous as your son.” The room practically buzzed with the Sheriff's anger, but Peter smirked nonchalantly. “I've murdered and manipulated people and am vaguely undead and you,” he put his hands on the desk and leaned down until they were eye to eye, “you want to date me.” 

John's eyes flashed red and it was the only warning Peter got before he was pinned against the door. John's breath was hot and the tips of his ears were pink and were anyone watching they'd think it was all anger. But Peter could see the embarrassment in his eyes. 

“Leave,” John snarled. 

Peter rolled his eyes and flicked John's nose. “No,” he said, “now I'm curious. Why would you possibly look at me that way?” Peter was under no illusions about himself. The idea that anyone would know anything about him and think 'oh that's partner material' was baffling. 

John seemed barely placated by Peter's confusion, but he let him go and backed off a little. “You should know why.” 

“And yet I don't. Crazy how things work out that way sometimes.” 

John's exasperation was palpable when he glared at Peter again. “We've had this conversation. You're,” he fumbled with the words, “not that bad. I...I don't approve of what you've done but I get it. I get you. God knows I wish I didn't. I planned on keeping an eye on you and wait for you inevitable betrayal but you're, dammit, I don't know.” 

Peter didn't know either. He covered with the same detached amusement he employed with everyone else. “Is that all?”

“And you seem to like Stiles,” John finished.

Peter considered this. “Well, the fact that he's a smarmy little shit aside, I think I could easily say he's my favorite.” 

“Oh it shows.” John laughed. “I always figured Scott would be your favorite.” He saw Peter's frown and added, “because you bit him.” 

Funny, because after killing Laura, it was one of the things Peter regretted most about the whole ordeal. “Scott sees us as monsters,” he said. “He sees the bite as a curse he has to bear, and I don't like that at all.” 

Stiles, for all he wanted to remain human, thought it was 'awesome.' 

John nodded solemnly, like he also disapproved of that line of thinking. Peter believed that. After his initial shock wore off, both after finding out about werewolves and then becoming one himself, John had taken it all in stride; had chosen to accept it and try to understand it. He'd gotten under Peter's skin as well. 

“The pack isn't going to be very happy about this. Especially Stiles and Derek, they'll be practically cousins.” The idea of it was so hilarious that Peter almost didn't notice the way John's shoulders raised slightly and how his expression turned hopeful. 

Peter's lips quirked coyly, “but, I suppose we might as well go for it.” He took a step forward, then John grabbed his face and kissed him. 

-.-.-.-

On Christmas day, Melissa's glare was more subtle and a little half-hearted. She stood back while Peter stuff a couple handfuls of newspaper under the wood and lit them on fire. The flames started slowly, going out in most places, but Peter could already where it was catching on the lighter fluid Derek had thrown on earlier.

They started building it in the mid afternoon, so the sun was still halfway down the trees. The fire would be going full blast before it got dark. 

He stepped back and accepted a mug of hot chocolate from John. “There is no point to this bonfire.” Even if he wasn't a werewolf, there was a perfectly good central heating system inside the house. 

“Stop knocking the traditions!” 

Peter ducked under the football Stiles threw at his head. It hit Jackson. 

“Dammit, Stilinski!” Jackson reached down to scoop it up, only to be tackled from behind by Scott. 

“Touchdown!” Melissa cheered. 

Peter retreated back to near the porch. He took a sip of his hot chocolate and sighed when John wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I'm starting to think they don't know how to actually play the game.” 

“The rules are different in werewolf football,” John offered. 

“No such thing and you know it.” 

Stiles had somehow gotten the ball away from all the betas except Erica. She chased him all the way to Derek, whom Stiles hid behind. “That's not fair, Stiles!” 

“It's Alpha-Base,” Stiles threw the ball down hard and crowed, “I win!” 

John chuckled, “apparently there is now.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “They should stick to lacrosse.” 

“You don't like lacrosse.” 

“That's why they should stick to it.” 

John snorted into his cup and didn't respond, just wrapped his arm around Peter's waist. Peter leaned against John's side and settled in to watch the bonfire. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far, thanks for you time. I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
